Harry sighed as his head fell into his hands. This was not looking good. He sat on the dingy floor of a Thai prison, surrounded by fifty or so …. he wasn't quite sure what they were. Some appeared feminine enough but Harry was relatively sure that they were not women. And the smell! Harry wasn't prissy when it came to his living accommodations —his childhood ensured as much—but honestly, did no one believe in showers or soap here? And the communal toilet hole in the ground… and the leg irons… and the mosquitoes… Merlin, how did Muggles live like this?
"Get hold of yourself, Harry," he whispered. "It's just like camping but without the magical tent…or Hermione's never-ending bag of food supplies. Bugger."
"Mr. Potter? Mr. Harry J. Potter?"
Harry looked up quickly to see a trim looking fellow in a pink button down. His thoughts immediately went to Percy Weasley, but this bloke had brown hair. Harry stood up, relieved.
"Yes, that's me. Are you from the embassy?"
"Yes. Mr. Potter, if you'll come with me? We're having a bit of a problem substantiating your story…"
Harry followed Pink Shirt into a solitary room with one window, one table, and one chair. He opted to stand, his leg irons comfortably resting on the floor, as Pink Shirt spent some time removing papers from a leather briefcase and arranged them on the table.
"You see, Mr. Potter, we don't have any record of your service for any such ministry or organization… You told the Thai authorities that you were intended to remove that artifact as part of your official duties on behalf of the British service, yes?"
"Uh… yes. Listen, not to be rude, but are you sure you are talking to the… er… correct people back home? I mean to say, the Ministry should know all of this, as they sent me here…"
Pink Shirt shook his head. "I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but the Ministry of Defense hasn't heard of you and has no record of your employment… Now perhaps we could get the real story, you know, may help move things along here?"
Bloody hell, Harry thought, he was stuck in the Muggle world's justice system. There wasn't any record of him on the Muggle books since before he entered Hogwarts!
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name... Mister?"
Pink Shirt's nose rose a few inches higher, if possible. "Weatherby. Marcus Weatherby."
Harry smirked. "Right. Mr. Weatherby. Please contact Ms. Margaret Bones in the Prime Minister's cabinet; she'll be able to deliver my proper clearances."
Pink Shirt blinked rapidly, then quickly began assembling his papers. "Mr. Potter, if you won't cooperate with the authorities or myself, I can assure you the British Embassy will not waste its time attempting to remove you from this predicament! I mean, honestly, how many young people do we see attempting to remove illegal narcotics via odd looking Thai or Asian artifacts? You aren't precisely unique in your situation, and you would do well to plead guilty for a reduced sentence or perhaps at least tell me from whom you received the drugs-"
"No. I'm innocent. No. I will not plead guilty." Pink Shirt looked offended, and Harry sighed. "Look, please just contact her, alright? Please. It's very important. I'm not wasting your time, I promise. Please."
"I'll do my best, Mr. Potter."
Pink Shirt had visited Harry twice more; once too bring soap, sandwiches, and mosquito repellant from the British embassy, and a second time to inform him that Ms. Bones of the ministry had been informed of his predicament and would be in contact soon.
It was rather brilliant, Harry bitterly acknowledged over the next few weeks he spent with his feminine cell mates, the idea of filling a priceless dark artifact with Muggle narcotics. Hell, he'd fallen right into the bloody trap. Wizard exit points would be watched for that artifact—the Ministry had determined from reports that Thailand's floo ports had in fact been warded to prevent removal directly—so, Harry had flown in Muggle-style to Thailand, on a big jet with snacks and movies, the whole cauldron. He was to have left the same way, had it not been for the bloody drug-sniffing dog. Unfortunately, Harry had stowed all of his magical gear in a warded compartment of his carry-on so as to not cause the Muggle plane to crash from magical interference. Brilliant, really, and here he was, wandless and stuck in a Thai prison with ladyboys.
"Pot-her" the Thai guard spoke in accented English. "Get up. Visit-her."
Harry grunted as he stood, and ran his fingers morosely through his hair. It was matted in every possible direction, and Harry was quite certain he had fleas from the cell conditions, but Pink Shirt must be used to his appearance by now. Harry entered the same room, and blinked in surprise at the figure already seated behind the table with long, shock-white hair and gray eyes.
"Ugh, Potter, I didn't think you could smell worse than you did in school! Merlin, are those some sort of metal restraints on your ankles? Muggles are so barbaric!"
"Malfoy," Harry gritted out "What are you doing here?"
"You'd do well to watch your tongue, Potter. I'm the Ministry liaison sent to investigate your claim and remove you from Muggle Thai custody. I can't believe someone actually thought up this plan—stealing dark artifacts and flying out like a Muggle? On a plane? Honestly, hasn't anyone in the Auror department heard of portkeys?"
"Portkeys don't work in Thailand, Malfoy. They have the best wards in the world so the Thai government can control the drug trade. It's in the Ministry file on the Thai Wizard community and their deal with the Muggle government here… Honestly, hasn't anyone in the Magical Foreign Relations department actually researched Thailand's Wizarding government?"
Malfoy glared at Harry, and flicked his wrist once at the empty space across the table. A second chair appeared, and Harry sat, careful not to clank his leg irons.
"Right. So we're going to get you out of here, obviously, even if you are a smelly prat." Malfoy smirked, flipping through papers. "I assume you were using your invisibility cloak... see, we have to explain to Thai wizarding officials why the British Ministry of Magic was operating here, sending an Auror in without permission. Bloody hell Potter, your boss is an idiot."
"Yes, it was my cloak," Harry wrung his hands together. "Malfoy, how long have I been in here? I think it's been under three weeks but I haven't got any papers.... Is Ginny alright?"
"Bloody hell Potter! I'm not your owl! What, are you going to start crying like a nancy now? The Golden Boy reduced to sobbing because he's in a Thai jail? Someone alert the Daily Prophet! Merlin, it's not Azkaban, Potter! Your wife and you will live!"
Harry grimaced and looked away, dropping his shoulders. "Forget it."
Malfoy sighed, and reached into his bag. He casually threw three rolled parchments across the table. "Letters from your family. Read them now, because they won't let you take these into the cell. Odd looking things too, from the Muggle perspective."
Harry snapped up the letters and greedily read the news from home. Albus had taken his first step! James got stuck on the roof after borrowing Harry's broom, and Ginny had to rescue him. And of course everyone missed daddy. Harry cradled his head in his hands again.
"Malfoy, how long till I get out of here?" Malfoy didn't answer and Harry looked up, surprised to find the normally composed man staring at his papers in contempt. Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he flipped through several more pages. "Malfoy-"
"Potter, what did they do to you? Why didn't you tell that Muggle who was visiting you? This is utterly absurd, completely out of proportion. Why weren't we notified?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, what did they do to you? I'm looking at your file and that Muggle doctor here says you've old scars signaling repeat offenses. You're a repeat criminal offender, Potter, and you know what they do as punishments here! Why didn't you notify someone?"
Harry blinked. "Malfoy, I have no idea what you're on about. I've sat in a cell with fifty or so ladyboys, and it smells awful, my hair has a mind of its own, and I can't perform a wandless Scorgify. Other than that, they've done nothing… unless the food is considered a crime. It really should be, honestly."
Malfoy thrust his papers into Harry's face and jabbed a manicured fingernail at the writing. "See here. It says signs of a repeat offender, marks along buttocks and-"
"Yes, thank you Malfoy, I can read!" Harry slammed the file closed and ground his teeth.
"Potter, quit being a Gryffendor prat! Are they hitting you here? They can't do that, we have a treaty. I need to know, you idiot, I'm trying to get you out of here."
Harry felt his cheeks heat as he blushed crimson, and he lowered his eyes to hide behind his overgrown fringe. "Sod off Malfoy! This isn't your business." Of all people to learn Harry's childhood secret, it had to be Draco bloody Malfoy!
"What, the Ministry didn't send you to another one of these hovels, did they? I bet it was Malaysia! Or Singapore! Merlin, Muggles are barbaric!" Malfoy stood and began pacing.
"Malfoy!" Harry snapped, "It was ages ago! Leave it!"
Malfoy stopped, and wrenched the file from Harry's hands. "It was those Muggles, wasn't it… the ones you grew up with. But Snape always teased you about your spoiled upbringing with your doting relatives! 'Oh Mr. Potter, too bad your relatives aren't here to coddle you and care for your every whim!' and the like."
"Yes, well, Snape didn't exactly know me…did he? Snape saw what he wanted; the rest was invisible to him." Harry snorted. "Invisible to most everyone else, too. Dumbledore …"
Malfoy quieted at the mention of Dumbledore. "I didn't know," he muttered.
Harry laughed bitterly. "Look, Malfoy, no offense, but the wizarding world would never have believed that the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't living in a perfect home with perfect relatives and a perfect life… What would they do, if they had? Supposed to defeat Voldemort but can't even protect himself from his uncle? No one knew! You all saw what you wanted to see… I… I can't believe I'm even telling you this. Just… just get me out of here, okay Malfoy? Just get me out."
Malfoy flicked his wrist again, shrinking the file, and he placed it neatly in the pocket of his designer Muggle suit. "You'll be out before the end of the week, Potter. Good day."